Fourth Form of Madness

Well as it turns out Montpellier wasn’t much chop. The tour books had talked it up a bit and I was left dealing with my over estimated anticipations about it beauty and culture. To me, and to be fair I was still getting over the stress of the near miss kidnapping experience of Paris, it looked somewhere you would send someone if you wanted them to be well versed in guerilla warfare techniques. On the other hand, we did have the best meal that we have had in the whole of France so far in Montpellier. I had duck salad to start and then duck breast for main (I’m a themes girl). My duck was amazing (both courses) and husband’s food was good too. After saying I wasn’t going to drink I ended up helping husband finish 3 smallish jugs of wine (on top of my mandatory kir that I have been having as a starting drink all around France). Needless to say we slept well that night.

In the morning we picked up the next hire car, which was surprisingly even smaller than the Ford Festiva – it was an Opel Corsica, loaded up the sat nav for Provence and started off for some more hair raising, knuckle gripping car tours of France. First stop was Pont du Gard, a very old (50 AD) water duct left behind by some kind Romans. We oohed arhed and climbed as much over the surrounding countryside that they would allow in search of the perfect picture. Then it was back in the car and on the roads to Arles. Being a bit over citys or large towns we opted to go to the tourist office and select a more provincial B&B. I am so glad we did. It was like staying in a French museum with very pretty gardens. Our room was like it had been reconstructed straight out of the 17th Century, the 17th Century with a swimming pool. The only minus (and it was very minimal was that it didn’t have wifi).

After depositing our luggage in our new stylish chambres, we drove down to the Carmague, where the white horses run free and the flamingos roam the marshes (and the old huge swimming rat or two). We visited the bird park as we were guaranteed of some pink flamingos (or big pink chickens as we have fondly come to call them do to their sound). We wondered around the park pretending to be interested in some of the very unattractive birds they house down there when we heard the squawk of our pink chickens and came across their marsh. It is rare you have a truly breath taking moment, the last one I remember was when I saw my husband for the first time (hee hee), the next was coming through the marsh clearing (after seriously psyching myself up as I was sure this was definite snake country we were treading through), and seeing the glorious pink flamingos. It was later in the day so the sun was that forgiving hue that makes everything look soft and beautiful and there they all were in the sunlight, sleeping, eating and fighting. So majestic, so peaceful even when they were trying to peck each others eyes out or get a bit of flamingo loving.

We slept until 9.45am the next morning. The lovely B&B lady had closed over the shutters and we found out that without ques such as daylight the body will continue to sleep unperturbed. We raced out to the courtyard to enjoy our complimentary B&B breakfast (that finishes at 10am) and were not disappointed. There were about 10 jams that all looked and tasted as if they might be home made, fresh croissants and bread, melon and strawberries, freshly oj and of course fresh black coffee French style! I must have taken about 50 photos of the courtyard all bathed in morning sunlight. It didn’t matter where I pointed my camera the photo looked amazing (and I am no photographer) everything was just so beautiful. The lovely french B&B lady and trusty sidekick Barloo (the dog) then gave us directions for an amazing provincial drive. Let me say at this point, there is nothing like driving in the Provence, it is so beautiful. Whilst driving it became clear to me that there had been a big karmic mistake and I was really meant to be born in the Provence. With light I have seen no where before and a perfume on the air that is so sweet it could have been only manufactured by nature, I was sure that to live here would be to really live.

We returned early afternoon to the B&B to test some bright blue swimmers I had brought earlier in the day out in the pool. The sun by this stage was rather warm and I had spent most of the day slowly roasting in the passenger seat so the cool water was welcome on my skin (even if the occasionally wasp did float by). I was overcome by the fact that I didn’t seem to care about wearing a bikini. Back home I am strictly a board shorts and bather top girl. Here I was parading about in my new bright blue string bikini with orange sparkly stars like I was the next Elle McPherson (My good friend Suzy had mentioned this strange no bikini fear factor to me from her travels but I had never unto this point experienced it myself). Mind you there were no other guests and no mirrors. Either way I owned that poolside. Then I had three glasses of Kir Royale and a big packet of blue cheese chips and I felt like I less owned that poolside. Unfortunately at that point, madam B&B lady decided to show a prospective guest through the B&B. Did’t see him again after he spied eyes the drunk Australian in her swimming cosie with blue cheese chips down her front.

That evening we drove to St Remy for dinner. St Remy is where Van Gogh voluntarily admitted himself into an asylum for a year after hacking off an ear after an evening drinking Absynthe with a friend. Looking around at the beautiful town of St Remy which is shadowed by hauntingly striking mountains, I would have gladly hacked off an ear to stay here as well. Dinner, once again was amazing with husband having the provincial fish stew and myself the lamb done with potato daphanne (lots of cream and lots of potato – mum if you are reading this stop using skinny tinny to make this dish -it’s a crime again cuisine!). All was well, as fate would have it we realised that there were three tables of Australian couples all grouped together as we could hear their accents. Then the newly arrived Aussie couple declared that they needed someone that could read English to them as they couldn’t understand the menu written in French in their best and loudest Queenslander accent. When the waiter arrived, they berated him for there being no English on the menu. The waiter didn’t miss a beat and in the only English he had spoken that night said “Why don’t you speak French?”. Have I mentioned I love the French directness and wit, it is very refreshing to be told the truth bluntly all the time. I stifled a laugh and tried not to speak English again without an American accent for the rest of the night.

With much sadness we left the beautiful B&B and heady on down the french coast, past St Tropez and Cannes. Well you can tell Cannes is on at the moment. There are about 30,000 more people than there usually are in Cannes and they have all left their cars in the turning lane along the coastline. Miles and miles of traffic and not one superstar spotted, not even a B grader. Why aren’t they out in the public where we can maul them? Cannes was to full so we continued to the perfume capital, Grasse. But not without husband firstly just about running over a Cannes policeman whilst running a give way sign on a roundabout. The policeman took one look at husband, another at the hire car and obviously thought “Another stupid tourist way to hard to process” and let us continue on. Grasse too was full and surprising unpleasant smelling for the perfume capital. Finally we made it out to Le Relais Gourmand hotel in Mousans Sartoux where we have decided to stay so as to give husband’s nerves a break after driving one to many goat trails with sheer drops off one side of 500 metres or more. After trying to give them our camera (we left in the foyer for 30 mins unattended and surprising it didn’t get stolen which I truly believe is some sort of miracle and we should be phoning the cathelic church), we fired up the laptop and checked emails. Got an email saying that my good friend had broken her ankle – Stacey if you reading this, hope you get better soon!!!!!!! We are both thinking of you and don’t get your cast off until we return and can write some rude words on it. Oh and I have some excellent yoga ankle moves for rehab (love you).

I think we are off to the alps tomorrow but for now, I am off in search of food and a vin (or maybe a starter Kir).